


McKnits

by SimpleBTRomance



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Knitting, Scott McCall is a Ray of Sunshine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 00:35:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5071108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SimpleBTRomance/pseuds/SimpleBTRomance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of Scott’s earliest memories was sitting in his grandmother’s living room, switching his attention between watching her knit and watching whatever was on the TV. He remembers her finally taking him into her lap and covering his small hands with her much larger and frail looking but strong hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	McKnits

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little thing that popped into my head weeks ago and I'm just now posting it. I might expand on it, with Scott making each pack member something and a ship? idk. Depends on y'all.

One of Scott’s earliest memories was sitting in his grandmother’s living room, switching his attention between watching her knit and watching whatever was on the TV. He remembers her finally taking him into her lap and covering his small hands with her much larger and frail looking but strong ones. She guided him in knitting and purling, actually doing all of the work herself, through a square that with a little work they turned into a little pink bunny. He was so proud of that little bunny, he rushed to his parents when they came to pick him up and proudly showed it to them. His mother praised him and told him how good he did, his father just gave a smile, though he knew his dad was proud too. His mom still has that little bunny on her dresser, a little worn and not as perfect as he remembered it being all those years ago.

He fell in love with the craft that day, spending the afternoons at his grandmother’s learning everything she could teach him, her voice soothing as she gently instructed him in her mother tongue. His grandfather got him his own little rocker and yarn basket so they could knit and rock together. He made countless things as he learned, starting with dishcloths then moving on to scarves and hats on her double pointed needles. He soon brought some of the needles and yarns back with him, working on things when he couldn’t go outside because he was sick or the weather was too hot for his asthmatic body. When he needed something to distract himself from the fighting his parents did. Knitting was his safe haven.

When his parents divorced and his grandmother died, he gradually stopped knitting, finding other things to devote his time to. School, Stiles, lacrosse. His childhood hobby seemed like a distant memory even though he can see all the little projects he made for his mom all around their house.

Then one chilly night, his whole life changed by a man mad with a need for revenge and power. What he thought he knew was no more. Then it kept changing, he turned from an omega to a true alpha. He lost friends and gained them, became more world weary. Kept failing his friends, failing his mother, failing himself. So much pressure to know and do the right thing, even though he was always skating on by the tips of his claws. 

He lays awake most nights now, unable to sleep from the racing thoughts and memories in his head. When he was able to sleep, his dreams were plagued with nightmares. Nightmares of watching Peter Hale thrusts his claws through his mother’s chest. Stiles’ chest. Derek’s chest. Of Allison’s death. Of Stiles not being able to shake the nogitsune, of staring into his best friend’s face void of emotion as he stabs the katana deeper into Scott’s stomach. Of losing Liam in a fight, or Malia, or Lydia. Of him killing them all as Kate’s beserker. All of them sending him upright in his bed, the whisper of a name breaking on his lips.

One night as he tossed and turned, he spies the little basket and needles sitting in the corner of his room. A layer of dust turning the bright yarns and shiny needles dull. Giving into the sudden urge, he rolled out of bed and grabbed the basket, shaking the dust off gently. It didn’t take long for muscle memory to kick in and he was casting on a bright red yarn, sitting back onto his bed with his back against the headboard. He felt his mind start calming as he got back into the swing of knitting and purling, muscles releasing the tension he didn’t realize they held and relaxing. Hours later, as he was binding off on a nice sized ribbed scarf he felt a calm tiredness wash over him that he hasn’t felt in over a year. He put the needles and scrap yarn away, flopping back into his bed, falling into a dreamless sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.


End file.
